


His Ghosts

by ImaginaryFigment



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Corpses, M/M, Mirrors, No Character Names Used, Post-Canon, Post-New Dangan Ronpa V3, Song: Sex With A Ghost, Spectrophilia, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27602627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaginaryFigment/pseuds/ImaginaryFigment
Summary: When they died, all he wanted was to be with them again. Even if he couldn't see them, couldn't touch them, it was enough. Hearing their voices, feeling their ghostly hands over his, just knowing they were there...it made it easier. It was enough. It had to be.
Relationships: Akamatsu Kaede & Saihara Shuichi, Harukawa Maki & Saihara Shuichi & Yumeno Himiko (mentioned), Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	His Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> I really like writing in this style so I might do it more often for these types of one-shots, we’ll see. Also, this au isn't developed whatsoever lmao this is just an idea based on Sex With a Ghost by Teddy Hyde
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“You know, I’ve really missed you.”

“I know...I’ve missed you too. How have you been?” The voice is high, melodic. It’s the same as he remembers. He doesn’t know if that hurts more. 

“I've been alright. We're all looking out for each other, it's nice." He smiles wistfully at the thought of his family, of the two girls who he hadn't spoken much to in months. "How have you been?”

“Good...as good as I can be, at least. I’ve been working on new music, actually! I’d love to play it for you some time.”

“That sounds wonderful. What do the others think?”

“Others? What others…?” His head snaps up at the question, golden eyes wide. 

“You haven’t- you don’t know about the others? You haven’t seen anyone?” he asks, voice hushed with surprise. The answer sets a pit into his stomach.

“Hmm...no, I don’t think so. Why? Are the others?” If there were no others then...

He pauses. “...no. Sorry, I just assumed. So there really aren’t any of our other friends where you are?”

“No...why? Have you talked to someone?” 

“Um- no. Like I said, I just assumed there were others. I really missed you. I’m glad I get to talk to you again.”

“Me too! I’ve really missed you since it all happened.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Hey, can I show you something?” He nods and he’s led away from the small table in his apartment and into his bathroom. “Close your eyes, okay?”

He does. His hands shake nervously as he waits for further instruction, possibilities racing through his head.

“Okay...you can open your eyes.” He does. He’s standing at his mirror, his own reflection staring back at him. Pale gold eyes, dark midnight hair, bruises across his neck that stand out against his alabaster skin. He adjusts the collar of his shirt to hide them. All of a sudden… 

“Wait...wait. I can- I can see you,” he murmurs. His voice is disbelieving, it’s impossible to see what he’s seeing. 

The soft blonde hair, the lilac eyes that have haunted him for near two years, the same smile that had drawn him out of himself. “So it worked then?”

“Yes- yeah, I think it did. I-I never-” He stops, covering his mouth as tears threaten to spill. “You’re just as beautiful as I remember. 

“Oh, be quiet!” The laugh, too, is the same. Bubbly and sweet and perfect. 

“Can I- can I touch you now too?” he asks, quiet. It’s almost too good to believe. Having the girl who had saved him back...it feels near impossible and yet- 

“No, you can’t. I’m still...dead. You still can’t see me outside of this room, outside of looking at the mirror. But you can’t touch me.” Slender arms wrap across his shoulders. “But I’m still here.”

Even as the near-perfect image flickers, revealing nothing more than a rotting corpse, he’s happy. Even though he has to look away for fear of being sick, he leans into the arms wrapped around him, smiling softly.

Because it’s enough. It has to be.

***

Featherlight kisses against his jugular, pinpricks of fingernails dragging across his back, phantom breath against his ear…

“Saihara-Chan…”

“Why are you really here?” he murmurs. His head tilts up instinctively as kisses are pressed against the underside of his jaw. 

“Cause I know you’re alone~” 

“I-I’m not...I have-” he starts. The words die in his throat. “I wish I could see you…”

“There’s an easy way to do that~”

“I’d never.” But how easy it would be...to just do it. The thought has crossed his mind a few times and yet he never really considered it. He likes to think he hasn't, at least.

“I know you wouldn’t. I don’t want you to.”

"There's another way-"

"I already said no to that." And he knows. He knows why. “I never want you to see me like that.”

“I know. I don’t want to hurt you…”

“I know you don’t.”

I don’t want you to go either.” It’s followed by silence. “What do I do…?” he asks quietly. 

“You lay back and let me take care of you.”

“You’ll be gone in the morning.” He again doesn’t receive a reply to that. “I don’t want you to go.”

“You know the rules, my beloved.” 

“The ‘rules’ are stupid,” he mutters. There’s a quiet chuckle, one he just barely hears. 

“We don’t have a choice.”

“I wish we did.”

“I bet you do.” 

“I wish a lot of things.” His fingers reach out, as though to trace someone’s cheek, but catch only air. 

“Like what, darling? Tell me.” It’s not unkind, it’s quiet, like everything else, but sweet, if not commanding. He’d expect nothing less. 

“I wish...I wish you were here, really here. I wish you didn’t die. I wish _I_ did. I wish we survived together. I wish we died together. I wish you would’ve talked to me. I wish I could’ve saved you. I wish you could’ve trusted me. I wish I could kiss you.” 

“That’s a lot to wish for, you know?”

He chuckles, leaning his head back to fall against the headboard. “And yet it seems my biggest wish came true.”

“Is that so?” 

He tilts his head to the side again as he feels ghostly lips explore his skin. “I got to be with you.”

The soft kisses still, cold breath tickling his collarbone. “But you didn’t. _We_ didn’t.”

He sighs quietly. “This is more than I could’ve asked for. All of this. Even if I can’t touch you, even if you aren’t _really_ here...I get to be with you, every night. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“I didn’t either…”

“I miss you,” he whispers. Fingers brush his hair back. 

“I miss you too... it’s just never fun without you. You can’t even see me, that might be the worst part. And I got all dressed up for you too! What a pain.” The air stills and he feels gentle kisses across his thighs. “But that’s a lie, you know? The worst part is that we can’t ever be together. I don’t ever get to walk around with you on my arm and show you off to the world...my beautiful, perfect Shumai...you deserve better than this.”

“I do,” he agrees. How could he not? “But I don’t want anything else.” And it’s true, he doesn’t. He can’t ever imagine not having this.

“Then you must be stupid.”

“If it’s stupid to be in love with you, then I guess I am.”

“You are stupid for that.” He laughs at the confirmation, again reaching his hand to brush through hair and to hold a face that isn’t really there. 

“You’re probably right. But even like this...I wouldn’t trade you for the world, you know? You mean everything to me.”

“I shouldn’t.”

Part of him agrees but on the whole, he doesn’t truly care. “But you do.”

There’s no response, at least not one he hears, just the feeling of barely-there kisses climbing his body, trailing up to meet his lips. His mouth parts ever so slightly, fearful of ruining it all with one wrong move. 

And yet, he aches to reciprocate, to run his hands through the soft purple hair, to kiss the lips that flutter across his body, to hold the boy that once lived within his arms, to feel the warmth of life coursing through his lover’s veins, to _see_ the one he loves. 

His hands, shaking, reach upwards for a third time. He can’t feel anything, can’t tell if his hands are even anywhere near the right place, but it’s nice. It’s nice to imagine his arms around the moon-pale skin he can still picture, to think about the amethyst eyes sparkling from inches above him, to picture his hands running down soft curves and edges, to pretend that he’s really with someone, someone who’s real, someone who he can touch, who he can see, who he can truly love. 

The fantasy is ripped from his mind all too quickly as he feels weight shift over his abdomen, and he wishes it never crossed his mind at all. Because this is enough. It has to be. 

“I love you,” he murmurs. There’s a pause before his chest is near crushed and he feels something rest against it. He brings his hand up to cup what he can only guess is a head. There’s no further movement and it’s almost nice. He almost feels like he isn’t really alone, like he isn’t cuddling nothing but air. He can feel the phantom sensation of being held too, and it’s comforting. It always is. 

“I loved you too, you know.” A quiet, barely-there whisper that his ears strain to here but it sets a smile on his face. “I always did.”

The smile flickers. “I hate when you talk about yourself like that. It makes it feel like…”

“What? Like I’m dead? Like I’m not really here? I’m not. You know that. I died almost two years ago.”

“Has it really been two years?” 

“Just about.”

“So then...we’ve been together for a year and a half?”

“As much as we can ‘be together’.”

He doesn’t respond to that, just sighs quietly and lets his eyes fall closed. It doesn’t take long for him to drift into sleep, it never does when he’s here, being held by the ghostly wisp of air he’s come to love. 

When his eyes open, in the morning, he no longer feels the ghostly embrace he had fallen asleep in, no longer feels the cold that has become so safe, so comforting. Instead, he’s left with pale bruises littered across his body from the night before, the only reminder of the boy he loves. And already, those have begun to fade.

He knew it would happen and yet it still hurts. He knew he would wake up alone, every day, when he had agreed to this. But how could he not have agreed? He had been offered the opportunity of a lifetime, a second chance. 

He almost thinks it didn’t happen, that the past year and a half, the past _amazing_ year and a half, wasn’t real. If not for the faint marks etched into his skin, he doubts he’d believe it was all real. 

But it’s enough. It has to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!


End file.
